


Blood, Lyrium, and Sex

by kuki



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Anders Dies, Developing Relationship, Drunk Sex, Feelings, Fenris Needs a Hug, Hate Sex, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Post DA 2, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5813473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuki/pseuds/kuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris hadn't seen his former companions since fleeing Kirkwall's madness and they were all so far away. It had been especially long since Fenris had thought about Anders, and as reflects on his and the mage's relationship, he remembers why that is.</p><p>Fenris reflects on his relationship with Anders and may find that it was more than just hate and passion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood, Lyrium, and Sex

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write about Fenris being sad, so here he is, sad and angry, but mostly sad.

Ass deep in mages and Templars, to Fenris the entire world seemed to have become Kirkwall. He wasn’t complaining, there were plenty of Tevinters hiding about, taking advantage of the chaos just the same as in Kirkwall. He looked out the window of the abandoned house he was slumming in, just in time to see a mage take a knife to her hand to fend off the hoard of Templars that were surrounding her.

“Your mages have freedom, Anders.” Fenris looked away as the Templars overwhelmed her, spilling even more of her blood. He looked to the blood on his own hands, from the magister he had killed earlier that day. The blood reminded him of Hawke, of the blood on her hands when he killed the mage after the Chantry was destroyed. The mage’s blood was on her hands throughout the entire following fight, even as they killed mages and Templars alike.

He laughed at his own sentimentality; it was almost as if he missed the abomination. Hawke however, he missed her terribly. It had been several months without a word from her. He wondered if she regretted it, killing Anders. Of course, he’d never ask her about it. If he had lived, perhaps Hawke could’ve saved him from himself, and from Justice.

Fenris looked around and found a bottle of wine sitting on the small stand next to the cot. It was nowhere near the vintage he had grown accustomed to from Danrius’s stock, but it was better than the horse piss from the Hanged Man. He sat in the armchair in the corner of the small hut; it reminded him of his favorite from the mansion back in Kirkwall. Somehow, it reminded him of the first time him and Anders had seen even a small glimpse of common ground. Mostly though on that night, they just ended up on the ground.

Anders had entered the mansion late one night, and looked as though he fully expecting Fenris to attack him. The elf would have, if not for the fact that he was wasted from the numerous bottles of wine he had be throwing back since that afternoon. He didn’t have much else to do, since Hawke took the only other three he could stand on a mission to the Storm Coast.

“What are you doing here, filthy mage?” Fenris managed with minimal slurring, pointing an accusatory, and shaking finger at the blond.

“There are Templars raiding the clinic, I need a place to stay the night.” Anders sighed. He’d never seen the other male that drunk, not even after playing drinking games with the dwarf and pirate. “Is there an occasion to your drinking?”

“Do you ever shut up?” Fenris said before gently tossing an unopened bottle at the mage. Anders stared at it for a few second before prying off the cork and chugging until he needed to breathe. It was good wine, flavorful and very high in alcohol. “I like you a lot better when you’re not talking.”

The mage wanted to be offended, but he just took another quick swig as he rolled his eyes. The elf held out his bottle. “To freedom.”

Anders smiled softly, clinking the top of his bottle against Fenris’ before following his lead and chugging more.

It didn’t take Anders long to get almost as drunk as Fenris, especially since the elf was slowing down some. They didn’t say much, occasionally throwing an insult at the other. Most of the insults were benign, considering what they thought about each other, but they started to add up. On the edge, Anders finally stumbled over to Fenris and his armchair, yelling something at the elf. Fenris yelled back, pulling Anders down to eye level. A few more insults, and the anger and alcohol mixed into a kiss. Teeth and grabbing at the other. The goal wasn’t pleasure it was to torture the other.

 

As the kissing and grabbing went on, the anger ebbed away and they found themselves wanting more of the other. It didn’t take much coaxing to get Anders’ robes open, nor did it take very long to pry Fenris out of his armor. They were too drunk and too set in hatred to do much work up as the elf growled and pulled the mage onto his lap.

Neither of them lasted long, not with the quick, jerky movements they were both making. Battle calloused hands gripped harder than they should as they wrapped around their cocks. Fingernails racked over scarred and oversensitive skin. Teeth bit down so hard that the marks were there for weeks, despite Anders best efforts at trying to heal his own. Not a small amount of blood was drawn during their small moment of intimacy. At the time, it was a lot more like a battle than sex.

 When it was over, they both fell asleep. When they woke up the next morning, they found that they had made their way to the floor. Fenris’s arms had wrapped themselves around Anders, and the mage had his fingers instinctively tracing the lyrium lines. Anders left without either saying a word.

Fenris gripped the bottle in his hand, siting in an empty house in central Ferelden, and took a swig. He wished, passively, that he hadn’t been so drunk, so he could remember what the two had said to each other that night.

Despite the noise of the continued fighting outside, the wine lulled him to sleep. When he woke to the outside world going silent and the sun setting, he decided it was time to move on. Without glancing around the hut again, he picked up his sword and pack, and headed out. When he opened the door, he looked down and saw the mage that he had turned away from before he fell asleep.

The girl was young, probably wasn’t even a proper mage when the Circles dissolved. She was an elf and by the markings on her face, she was Dalish before she went to the Circle. Most of the elf mages he had seen during the start of this war reminded him of Merrill. Stepping over the girl, he said a few words in Dalish, picked up from the littlest blood mage, before heading toward the stream he heard the day before to clean himself up. When he found it, he found that it was contaminated with blood. Looking upstream, he found corpses wearing Templar armor.

He tried to avoid the fighting between the two groups since Hawke had gone into hiding and he had entered Ferelden, but it was getting more and more out of control by the day. There were plenty of people being displaced by the mages and Templars. Earlier that week he had come across an entire Dalish clan that had been slaughtered in the middle of a battle between the two.

“Is this how you wanted it, Mage?” Fenris asked as he washed his hands in the water anyway, the lines glowing as they touched the red tinted liquid. “Is this carnage truly justice?”

It was a day’s walk before he found somewhere suitable to camp. Just outside what couldn’t even be called a town, he experienced one of the small rifts he had heard of first hand. A small, poorly armed militia was fighting against a rage demon, to little avail. With a roll of his eyes, Fenris grabbed the pommel of his sword, bellowing at the humans. “Move!”

Once the demon had disappeared and the hole in the sky closed back up, the humans looked at him in awe. The average farmer didn’t have much experience with demons so defeating one must’ve seemed to be a great feat.

He stayed there, in the little settlement, for the longest he had stayed anywhere since landing in Ferelden. While fighting off bandits and bears near the crossroads, he heard whispers of a Dalish hunter being called the Herald of Andraste and an organization called the Inquisition. Laughing every time he heard the rumors, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the elf who had managed to get himself into that position.

The crossroads was well populated with tame mages and chantry sisters, neither made him very comfortable.

“Most of the militia need a gospel from one of the sisters before they let us heal them.” One of the mages said with a smile as he healed him. The small rift had opened again and two revenants had come out along with a pride demon.

“Don’t get the wrong idea.” Fenris eyed the mage carefully. “I’m not fond of magic; it has caused most of the problems in my life.”

“It’s solving one of your problems right now.” The mage pointed out as he moved his glowing hands to a different injury. “You might’ve bled out if not for this magic.”

That reminded him of something Anders told him frequently when he visited the clinic. “The user makes a difference, but magic and its power are inherently dangerous. I’m sure your life would have been much simpler without it.”

It was something he hadn’t completely realized until after the smoke cleared in Kirkwall. Hawke had certainly helped, but it wasn’t until he saw mages like the one healing him now, choosing to stay with the Chantry or protect civilians from their more radical counterparts that he could see not all mages were going to turn into Danarius.

The mage finished his work without saying anything else, being called over by the head of the Chantry sisters. Fenris held his formerly bleeding side and looked up at the giant hole in the sky, so far away. He wandered if Anders would be like the mage that had just healed him, helping people, or if he would be fighting.

He remembered that when he went to the clinic he didn’t talk to Anders, just snarled “mage” at him and gestured to what needed healing as he hopped onto a cot. Anders always asked how he got injured, whether it was fighting slavers or discovering broken glass in Lowtown.

“I see your love bites finally healed.” Anders said as he healed an injury near the worst of Fenris’ hickeys had been. The elf couldn’t help but snort at the term. The clinic was completely empty for once, it couldn’t’ve hurt to talk about it.

“You certainly made them long lasting, mage.”

“I still have the one you made bleed on my collar bone.” Anders mumbled as he pressed into Fenris’ wound harder. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about it.”

“We weren’t going to, but since you find it impossible to shut up…” Fenris huffed as flinched away from the sting of the healing magic.

The mage stared at the elf for a while before looking away and asking him a question that Fenris had on his own mind. “Was it just because of the wine?”

It was obvious he was waiting for answer, as he stared almost pleadingly at the elf. Fenris stared at the mage for a while, trying to find an answer. He reached towards Anders and pulled him close. Anders went the rest of the way. The kiss was just as heated as their first, but it was less violent. Fenris wouldn’t need to explain his split lip to Hawke, but he might leave bruises on Anders’ arms.

They broke apart when they heard Hawke calling for Anders as she approached the clinic. Fenris pushed the mage back in a panic, sending him to the ground. Anders glared up at him as he wiped his mouth.

“You ungrateful prick!” Anders yelled in typical fashion. “You come in here for me to heal you and just-…”

“Maybe if you would shut your trap for one second, mage…”

Hawke paused as she came in and Varric whistled as he followed her. Isabela giggled. “Hawke, I think we interrupted a love spat.”

Fenris glared at the pirate before leaving with a small nod at Hawke. As he left, he heard her ask Anders what the fight was about.

Fighting bears and staying in the same place was starting make Fenris antsy, he was just looking for an excuse to move on. The excuse came in the form of a dwarf girl with the Inquisition. Harding came with soldiers and questions about the area. The people of the Hinterlands didn’t need one elf when they were now protected by a holy order.

As he traveled through the dense forest heading toward Orlais, he more than once swore he heard the familiar rumble of Varric’s voice. Fenris couldn’t help being close enough to hear the dwarf thank Bianca as him and his new companions took down a group of bandits.

Of course, it was somehow always Varric that managed to get the brunt of his and Anders constant arguments. The mage would just never shut up about mages and their damned freedom. It boiled Fenris’ blood to know end. He was content to not bring up the injustices he faced at the hands of mages unless it seemed appropriate, but Anders had no filter about it.

Arguments in the Hanged Man always ended with Varric taking his pint back to his room, and everyone else getting shooed off by Hawke. Out of the public eye but with their companions, it lead to Hawke erecting a magical barrier between the two of them, usually right where Varric was standing.

When the two were alone, it depended on why Fenris had sought out the mage, or visa versa, how a fight ended. If the goal of the encounter was sex, Fenris usually stormed out in a rage. More than once, he had dropped Anders if he started going on about Mage Rights while he was fucking him against a wall. Sometimes sex was the only way to shut up Anders though; it was much harder for Anders to talk about such things with something in his mouth.

Their fighting never seemed to end, even when other parts of their relationship changed. Sex slowly changed from quick hands jobs in the dark of Anders’ clinic to slow in the bed at Fenris’ mansion, even with Anders staying the night on occasion. Fenris spoke to him differently, seeing him ever more as a person with his own problems, even if Fenris didn’t completely understand all of his problems.

Fenris tired of Anders always creating an argument, of always undermining Fenris’ own convictions as whining and less important as the freedom of mages. Anders even argued with him on the rare points that Fenris agreed with him on, which as time went on in Kirkwall became fewer.

Perhaps the constant fighting about the issue of Templar and mage was the reason he was so tired of the fighting now, watching a few mages slaughter Templars from the safety of the brush. When the issue was first posed to him, he was certain that the Templars were in the right, that mages should be caged. It was harder now to see where the true answer truly was. Both were right and both were wrong so the only way to solve it was bloodshed.

Once in Orlais, he spent a few days with a Dalish clan. The Keeper was very impressed with his knowledge on Dalish customs. He declined to specify which first of the keeper he had learned it all from.

Orlais was a completely different animal than Kirkwall or Ferelden. The humans were strange, and the elves were stranger. Everywhere he turned there was something trying to attack him. Templars, mages, demons, bandits. Most left him alone in Ferelden, his strange appearance warding off such attacks, but everyone looked strange in Orlais so he probably looked relatively normal.

He was getting just as tired of the physical fighting as he had been his constant arguments with Anders. Perhaps none of this fighting would have happened without Anders and his extremism. Maybe if Anders had never let the demon inside his head, maybe something else would’ve happened.

It wasn’t all Anders’ fault, but the mage’s actions in Kirkwall hadn’t helped the matter. The war wasn’t the only thing that could’ve been different if Anders was different. Without knowing Anders before he became an abomination, Fenris had no way of knowing how much of his radical agenda came from him or from Justice, or from the two feeding off each other’s anger.

Fenris wished that perhaps the two of them had met under better circumstances, then maybe they could’ve been something other than enemies.


End file.
